do not speak of old, oak, trees
tell rather, of young saplings' iridescent green
living by water reflecting tall timber's leaves

leave out turbulent wind's, egg peak, waves
cast line upon the mist, listen to it drop
a solitary note, in the silence, plays

dew gathers for the morning fire wood
crackling limbs spitting from the ash
cinder comets fly through space to land crash

dawn's sun appears conjuring lake genies
casting spells in pines, bristle and moss
mushrooms, passing in the night, deliquesce

-cec